


the shortest distance between two points

by obstinateRixatrix



Series: vaguely connected k/l series [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, all of team voltron gets a scene bc I love them, hcs: nb hunk & trans girl pidge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-05-27 15:29:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15027611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obstinateRixatrix/pseuds/obstinateRixatrix
Summary: Just when Keith thought he had his relationship with Lance all figured out, finally, Lance marches in and not-so casually declares his undying love.(Or, his extremely small barely-there crush, but knowing Lance, same difference)





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey yall, this can be read on its own but it's also.... a soft-ish sequel-ish to [pointless subterfuge](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12195810) and a soft-ish rewrite-ish of [platonic antagonism](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8515021). 
> 
> thanks air for the once over and lex for making the food goo so important

During downtime— what little downtime there is in the middle of a war— it’s not weird for Keith to open his door and find Lance on the other side of it.

It _is_ weird to see Lance standing on the other side, face strained into a smile, carrying two plates of food goo.

“Keith!” Lance greets, with an enthusiasm that’s borderline manic. “Got you some food!”

“Thanks.” Keith automatically steps aside to let Lance in, taking a plate as he does. Then, because it’s nowhere near breakfast, lunch, or dinner, “Why?”

“Oh, you know how it is,” Lance says. It’s a bold assumption to make; half the time nobody seems to know how it is with Lance, least of all Lance himself. “Anyway, you got time to talk? Because there’s something I kind of want to talk about. No big deal, though! You’re a busy guy, I’m sure you’ve got a _ton_ on your plate!”

Keith glances down at his newly acquired food goo, then back at Lance.

It doesn’t seem to matter how long they’ve known each other; Lance, as always, is a complete mystery. Is this his attempt to own up to some aggravating-yet-ultimately-harmless antics? That’d explain the goo as some haphazard attempt at appeasement before confessing he— for example— accidentally sent unflattering pictures of Keith to space-tabloids. Again.

Or is this about something serious? Not necessarily life or death, considering… how this entire encounter has been approached, but Lance isn’t always the best at being transparent about how he feels. Except when he is. It’s confusing.

Well. It’s not often Lance musters up enough… whatever it is he needs before he comes to Keith with something on his mind; better to err on the side of caution.

“You can tell me anything,” Keith promises, shooting for a reassuring tone. Apparently he misses the mark; Lance lets out a strangely pitched sound, looking more distressed (?) than he did before he came in the room.

“Great,” he says listlessly, handing his own plate of food goo to Keith. “That’s great.”

Keith, standing in his room with a plate of food goo in each hand, waits.

And waits.

And waits some more, for good measure, but it doesn’t seem like Lance is gearing up any explanation for what all that was about; he’s just kind of standing there, fiddling with the edges of his jacket, trying to look like nothing’s wrong. Which doesn’t work with the strange atmosphere of manic-misery exuding from him.

Well. Keith tried patience. Time for a different approach. “Are you—“

“I have a crush on you!”

Keith very nearly drops both plates of food goo. “You what?” he asks

“I have a crush,” Lance repeats, “on you.”

“Oh,” Keith says. It comes out kind of strangled and maybe slightly panicked. It’s definitely not the right thing to say, judging from Lance’s equally panicked expression, and Keith wracks his brain for something, _anything_ better. “Thank you.”

That wasn’t better.

After a beat, Lance lets out a stutter of a laugh, strangely syncopated to some inscrutable rhythm. “So, yeah! No big deal, just— y’know, this is just a. A warning? It’s probably gonna be a little weird, not gonna lie, but like, don’t worry about it, not your fault, it’ll go away on its own,” Lance continues, making no sense at all. He throws up some painfully forced finger-guns before turning around and practically sprinting away.

“What about your goo,” Keith tries, but it’s too late; the door slides shut, leaving Keith standing alone in his room, a plate of food goo still in each hand.

 

* * *

 

If Keith had to describe his relationship with Lance in one word, it’d be: confusing.

He’d be the first to admit that his relationship with Lance started off terrible. He’d also be the first to point out that it was mostly Lance’s fault.

But they get along now. They make a good team. And, after working past that disaster of a first impression, it turns out Lance is… a good guy. A great guy. The kind of guy people would want piloting Voltron. He’s a protector.

It’s just...

Sometimes he launches Keith into an emotional tailspin, backtracks immediately, then disappears completely, leaving Keith wandering around the castle with a plate of now-stale food goo _still_ in each hand, trying to find him to… apologize? Explain? Undo the damage of what was, objectively, a terrible reaction?

The thing is, it took a while for Lance to even admit they were friends, long after they’d already become friends; in contrast, the crush had been sprung at warp-speed and now Keith’s reeling, trying to figure out what’s going on, how Lance feels, how he feels, how he wants Lance to feel—

“Hey Keith,” Hunk says. Then, “What’s up with the goo?”

“I… honestly don’t know.” Keith holds out the plates. “You want it?”

Hunk considers him for a second. They shrug, take a plate, and dump the pile right into their mouth in one swift motion. Then they wince. “Dude, this stuff is like… _stiff_. How long have you been carrying it?” they ask, motioning for the second plate.

Keith passes it over. “A while,” he admits, as Hunk dumps the second pile of goo into their mouth. It’s pretty impressive. “I’m looking for Lance. Have you seen him?”

Hunk scrunches their brow in thought, tapping their chin with the hand not holding two goo-less plates. “Did you check the loading dock?”

“Yeah.”

“The observation deck?”

“Yeah,” Keith says, “and his room, your room, Pidge’s room, the kitchen, the bridge, the training deck, the healing pods—“

“Woah,” Hunk interrupts, before Keith can finish the list. “Sounds like he _really_ doesn’t want people looking for him. That’s weird. Like, super weird. Is everything okay?”

Definitely not. But also, this probably isn’t something Lance wants being spread around, especially if he hasn’t told Hunk himself.

“You know how it is,” Keith tries. Shockingly enough, the flimsy deflection doesn’t work. At all.

Hunk’s eyes narrow as they lean into Keith’s space with a very pointed hum. Then a louder, even more pointed hum. Then a third hum, the ultimate expression of interest, doubt, and judgement all rolled into one, and in a moment of weakness Keith asks, “How long do Lance’s crushes last?”

“Oh,” Hunk says. “ _Oh_ ,” Hunk repeats, definitely misinterpreting the question, but it’s too late to course-correct; the first domino has been knocked clear off the table and into some intricately cascading mistake. Keith can practically see the trail of subsequent conclusions, all of them completely incorrect. “You worried about another Nyma?”

“What? No,” Keith says, deeply regretting his lack of impulse control. “Look, forget about it—“

“Is this about Plaxum?” they ask, a knowing kind of sympathy on their face, except Keith doesn’t even know who that is. “I know Lance can get kind of ridiculous about it, but like, before you judge him, listen, it’s not about his ego. Well, it’s kind of about his ego. But also, Lance just falls easily. He has…” Hunk trails off, at a loss. They’re not the only one. “Well, it’s not that he has _low_ standards, but he can have _really_ easy to hit standards. He’s a lot more vulnerable than people think.”

“Vulnerable?” Keith repeats, alarmed.

“Yeah, and he gets in his own way. Like, all the time. He’s a romantic, he’s just. Bad at it? Bad at getting it across,” they decide. “And sometimes bad at figuring out what he feels, even when it’s right in front of him.” Seeing Keith’s bewildered expression, Hunk sighs, dragging a hand down their face. “Man, he’s made this _really_ hard. What I’m saying is: you should probably make the first move.”

“What,” Keith says. “That’s not— no?”

“You should! You totally should! Like I get it’s a scary thing to do, but like. Trust me. You should.” Hunk gives Keith a light pat on the shoulder. They walk off whistling, apparently satisfied with what’s been said.

Keith has even less idea what he’s supposed to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact the whole food goo thing was partially a result of watching kamen rider den-o. that show just has really good shenanigans constantly in the background.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was going to be one straightforward conversation, but turns out I love friendship and having seven people briefly in a scene more than I like making things easy for myself.
> 
> thanks air and lex and sine for the once-over!

In the end, Keith never gets the chance to apologize before a crisis hits, and then another crisis right after, and by the time that one ends, it feels like Lance might be trying to move past the whole… that thing. So maybe bringing it up again might not be the best idea. But it’s hard to tell.

Is this really Lance with a crush? He’s not stumbling over himself, not the way he does when trying to impress what he considers a pretty face. Which is something that’s happened. A lot. Lance being a terrible flirt, in every sense of the phrase, is a well established fact.

(The problem isn't about being sincere— the problem is that Lance usually stops himself short, or he pushes over the edge until it loops all the way around from sincerity to some appalling parody of it.)

But Lance doesn’t drop any baffling lines. He doesn’t try to show off. He’s just... Lance. He jokes, same as ever; he doesn’t shy away from teasing Keith, firing quips and taunts with a blunt edge weathered by affection. It’d be easy to pass off the whole incident as some sort of fever dream. So Keith’s not sure how to handle this whole… development. Especially since there isn’t any development; Lance is, for the most part, acting how he usually does.

Except.

Now that Keith knows there’s something to look for, there are times he catches the tail-end of embarrassment as Lance quickly turns away. But it’s not just sometimes. It’s a lot of times, actually; after they’re all winding down from a hard-fought battle, or during a lull in conversation at mealtimes, or before they split off for missions. A quick glance, almost shy, but it’s hard to tell.

Even worse is when Lance doesn’t bother hiding it, staring at Keith with open and entirely too honest awe, grinning with a starry-eyed infatuation. And it’s usually not during anything important, either; after a joke, or while hanging out, there’s nothing that really warrants that look. Whenever Keith finds himself on the other end of it, when he thinks about what it means, he can feel a warmth spread through his chest.

It’s a little uncomfortable, but not entirely unpleasant.

 

* * *

 

Lance clears his throat. It’s purely theatrical and completely unnecessary; he’s already the center of attention. “Ladies and gentlemen and Hunk,” he announces, addressing everyone crowded onto the couch.

Which is basically everyone in the castle. It’s a very tight fit; staying still is the only way Keith can avoid knocking his elbow against Pidge’s head.

Once Lance is sure that yes, everyone’s watching, he continues, “We open the scene on a _spaceship_.” With that established, he waves the remote he’s holding, pushing a button as he makes a dramatic flourish to the table in front of him.

Nothing happens.

He glares at the remote.

“A _spaceship_ ,” he repeats, pushing the same button a hundred times in the span of a second before Pidge leans over and grabs the remote. She fiddles with it for a moment. Then a holographic ship appears, and Lance nods, apparently satisfied.

“Now, this ship’s a super important science ship, but before it gets to its next… science thing, it sends out a distress signal! And everyone thinks it’s like space bandits or something, so the whoever’s in charge goes like, oh snap! We need someone totally cool to save our butts!”

Lance dumps one of the space mice onto the table; it’s Plachu, who does a few showy jumps and flips. Pretty impressive, for a mouse. Allura leads everyone into enthusiastic applause.

“Our hero is a bounty hunter with a tragic past sent to save the crew, but what Ripov doesn’t know is that the ship is full of mutant killer plants! That use _mind-control!_ So—”

“Wait.” Hunk raises their hand. “Wasn’t it spiders? I’m pretty sure it was mutant killer spiders. With mind-control.”

“No,” Shiro says, “that’s Space Survivor: Arachnids From Beyond The Stars. This one’s Space Survivor: Plants From Beyond The Galaxy.”

Coran tugs at his mustache, very nearly elbowing Shiro in the face as he does. “Why would a ship be filled with mutant killer anything? Things that could kill you are supposed to be kept outside! Otherwise it wouldn’t be very safe.”

“It’s a movie, it’s not supposed to be safe!” Lance argues. “It’s supposed to be cool!”

“Yeah, but Coran’s got a point.” Hunk plucks the remote from Pidge’s hands, changing the small holographic ship to a small holographic room, presumably inside the holographic ship. “There are so many safety hazards that are _not_ up to code. Like, killer plants— or killer spiders— shouldn’t just be kept in a room with a lock, that doesn’t make sense!“

Lance grabs the remote, frantically changing the hologram back. “No spoilers!”

“Is there any difference between this movie and the spider one?” Keith asks, because he genuinely doesn’t know.

“Yes!” Lance exclaims, looking offended.

“No,” Pidge says, rolling her eyes. “Why are we starting from movie three anyway? Obviously the best order is to go from seven, then two, then—“

“Nope! Nuh-uh.” Lance points the remote at Pidge. “You’re wrong. Now, as I was saying— Platt, no!”

Lance lunges for the mouse in question, but it’s too late; Platt, sporting a knitted mutant killer plant costume, makes a break for the snack bowl. It’s not long before everything’s completely devoured.

“Not the space popcorn,” Lance whines, “we talked about this! And you!” He points an accusatory finger at the other mice. “Why didn’t you guys do anything?”

The space mice chitter and squeak for a solid while, a small cacophonous chorus accompanied by elaborate pantomime.

Lance shakes his head. “I have no idea what they’re saying.”

“They want a raise,” Allura translates. “I, for one, think it would be well deserved.”

“A raise!? They haven’t done anything yet!”

“They’re doing a fantastic job so far,” she retorts, and Lance folds easily under her stubborn gaze.

“Fine! I’ll make a whole bowl of space popcorn _just_ for them. After movie night. First, I gotta make space popcorn for movie night, since we’re all out, _Platt_.”

“Do you?” Pidge asks. “I don’t know about everyone else, but I’m not that hungry. We could just keep going.”

“It’s part of the movie night experience!” Lance exclaims, overwrought affront in his tone. “Come on Keith, back me up.”

Keith waves a hand in deference, careful not to knock Pidge’s glasses askew. “I don’t know anything about movie nights.”

“And that’s why you’re supposed to say: Lance is right, space popcorn is _essential_ , we should all listen to the smartest and most handsome paladin on the ship.”

“I’m supposed to say all of that?” Keith asks, raising an eyebrow, but he can’t quite suppress the tug of an indulgent grin.

Which is something Lance notices, of course; he leans in, arms crossed, amping up the dramatics to impossibly high levels. “Word for word,” he declares.

From right next to Keith, Pidge heaves out a sigh, looking… exasperated, maybe. “You guys are ridiculous,” she says as she gets up, heading out the door. “I’ll go get the space popcorn.”

After a second of deliberation, Keith stands. “I’ll help.”

It doesn’t take long to catch up to Pidge— she’s not that far ahead, and she’s not that fast to begin with.

“Hey,” Keith says, falling in step with her. “What did you mean by that?”

“By what?” she asks.

“Being ridiculous.”

Pidge gives him the same look from earlier. It’s definitely exasperated. Or close to it, at least. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

Except it’s not nothing, if Keith’s hunch is right. He could be reading into it, but it feels like she might, maybe, possibly… know. About the Lance thing. Maybe.

“Don’t—“ he starts, but it’s hard to figure out where to go from there. What exactly does she know? Keith doesn’t want a repeat of the Hunk situation. “Don’t give him a hard time,” he finishes, uncertain.

“What, Lance? Don’t give him a hard time about...?” Pidge trails off, staring at Keith with a laser-focus impossible to break. Then, after a small eternity, realization seems to strike. “You _know!?”_

It’s not exactly a conversation he wants to have, not with Pidge, but too late; Keith’s dug his grave and it’s time to lie in it. So he just nods and hopes that’s enough.

“Oh, wow,” she says. It’s extremely ambiguous what ‘oh’ and ‘wow’ are supposed to convey. “Did Hunk tell you?”

“Why would Hunk tell me?” Keith asks, not quite sure what Hunk would’ve told him. Other than to ‘make a move,’ that is.

“Maybe it slipped? I don’t know, it’s just— why else would you know? No offense, but there’s no way you would’ve figured it out on your own.”

Well. She’s right about that. But Keith’s not in the mood to spill the whole story, and it’s not entirely his story to spill. So he doesn’t.

They walk the rest of the way in a strained silence. It’s not until they’re at the kitchen, starting on the space popcorn, that she starts talking.

“Okay,” she says, as they slather teal food goo onto the bottom of the largest bowl they can find. “You’re hard to read, and I’m terrible at reading people, which is a pretty bad combination. I have no idea what you’re thinking. But, so we’re clear, I don’t actually have a real problem with you guys. Lance is just like… my brother once removed.”

“Your what?” Keith asks, taking the bowl from her. He puts it into the oven— it’s probably an oven— and sets the timer for a tick.

“I already have a brother, and it’s not Lance. But he’s like a brother. A brother once removed,” she explains. Seems like it’d be more simple to just call him ‘like a brother’. “Wouldn’t it weird you out if Shiro started swinging off street lamps and singing love songs? I can’t stop the little sister in me from giving him a hard time. But I’m happy you guys finally got together—“

“It’s not like that,” Keith’s quick to protest, and that stops Pidge in her tracks. She squints at him. Before she can say anything, the timer goes off.

Keith busies himself taking care of that. The goo’s risen into a bubbled surface, perfectly smooth; it shatters almost like glass after he gives it a solid tap, small and rounded fragments collapsing into the bowl. “This looks nothing like popcorn,” he says, a desperate bid to change the subject.

“Maybe not, but you know Lance.” An innocuous and vague statement, but the way Pidge wields it feels very… pointed.

Thankfully, she leaves it at that. Keith leads them back at a rather brisk pace just to avoid any potential of more conversation.

“There you are!” Lance says, when they arrive. “Finally! Now we can get back to the greatest movie ever made.”

Something about how he says that nudges at a hazy memory. “Is this the one where ‘the hunter becomes the hunted’?” Keith asks, as he squeezes between Hunk and Shiro.

Lance’s face lights up. “Yeah!” he exclaims, with a genuine kind of excitement. “Wow, and here I thought you were a total pop culture desert.”

“I am.” No use denying it. “It’s just— that’s the tagline of your favorite movie, right?”

There’s a split-second stutter of surprise across Lance’s face, but also… something maybe a little pleased, achingly fond; Keith’s heart thuds almost painfully in his chest.

But then Lance launches right back into regaling everyone with his rendition of Space Survivor: Killer Plants From Beyond The Galaxy, starring the space mice. Keith keeps his attention firmly on that, and not the look Pidge throws his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘Ripov’ is a name lifted from Wander Over Yonder (which is a name based on Ripley from Alien); I started this out thinking, well, I don’t like coming up with fake movie plots, so I’ll just make this a woy reference, but then the scene spiraled out of control. 
> 
> I also spent a while trying to find any reference to what gender the mice are, but no dice. Hey Voltron! Why don’t you guys ever answer the important questions!
> 
> editing this in because I have never not overthought anything in my life:
>
>> pidge is deep lore fan that digs up all the theories, hunts down interviews and behind the scenes stuff, has in-depth opinion on how every movie fits into canon and which movies are good; def was a family thing for her
>> 
>> shiro grew up with the movies & takes them at face value for the most part, He Thinks They’re Neat and his favorite is the cheesiest one with the most dated special effects because he lowkey thinks it’s hilarious (but everyone else thinks he sincerely likes how cheesy it is) (he does but it’s also just funny)
>> 
>> lance is somewhere in-between where he knows more trivia than the average person, but on the surface his interest is: wow cool space gun! he’s got some of the same kind of Opinions Pidge has, but it’s like ‘the themes and the characters are super interesting’ gets condensed & filtered into ‘wow cool space gun!’ he doesn’t need to be pressed hard for Actual Thought-Out Opinions, but he does need to be pressed
>> 
>> hunk watched the movies maybe once, but for the most part just coasts on second hand knowledge and also How Ingrained It Is Into Cultural Consciousness; will always nitpick bad sci-fi science because 1) it’s annoying, 2) it’s fun to be annoying
>> 
>> keith is a pop culture desert
> 
>   
> 
>
>> pidge: we have to start with movie seven because it functionally works as a prequel in setting up important worldbuilding and it’s important for getting the in-universe context of the franchise  
> lance: we start with movie three because it’s my favorite  
> shiro: why don’t we just start with the first movie and watch it in order?  
> lance + pidge: no


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I wrote 5 different starts to this chapter...... I had like 10 different angles I tried for each scene..... but here it is..... farewell...... also thanks sine.....

Life on the castle-ship doesn’t have a set schedule; day-to-day it’s more of a pattern than a routine, one frequently disrupted by the kind of curveballs thrown by space travel in the middle of an intergalactic war. Of course, meals and group training sessions are pretty consistent fixtures (when they can be afforded), but a lot of time is split between recovering from the last emergency and bracing for the next one.

There’s something familiar about that instability. Maybe not comforting, but familiar.

At the moment Keith’s passing this time by wandering around the castle. He usually trains— less out of diligence, more out of restless energy— but lately, it hasn’t been clearing his head in the way he needs.

Lance hasn’t really changed. Keith hasn’t either. And that’s a good thing... isn’t it? Not that Keith had any say in the matter; everything has, apparently, been decided already. By Lance.

And to be fair, Keith’s not the best at the whole ‘talking about emotions’ thing, not when it comes to someone else’s, not when it comes to his own. But maybe he should’ve gotten that chance. Maybe he should’ve fought for it more. Instead, he dropped the ball, sending it careening into an intricate catastrophe of interpersonal communication. Or lackthereof, since they just don’t talk about it. But even now, Keith doesn’t know what he would’ve said, or more importantly, what he should’ve said; the indecision is grating, especially for someone that thrives on action, on doing something— anything— but he can’t afford to be reckless here, there’s—

There’s a low murmur. A voice. Keith follows it, because doing that is way more appealing than thinking himself in circles.

As he gets closer, stopping outside one of the observation decks, he realizes it’s Lance.

Of course it is.

“...it’s like getting knocked out by my own boomerang. That I keep throwing!” Lance continues, the tail-end of what sounds like a baffling explanation. “Oh boy, wonder what’ll happen this time? The same concussion you always get, genius!” A soft sigh. “I thought I changed, but I’m still the same me I’ve always been.”

“Come now, that’s not such a bad thing, is it?” asks a different voice— Coran.

This is definitely a conversation Keith shouldn’t be listening in on. He’s caught between two equally strong instincts— rush in or run away— and he manages to do neither before the door slides open.

“Keith!” Lance exclaims, more of a yelp than a greeting. “Hey!”

“Hey,” Keith replies, mostly out of reflex. He hesitates— just for a moment— before continuing with, “is everything—“

“Whatever you heard, don’t worry about it,” Lance interrupts. “If you even heard anything. I mean, maybe you didn’t hear anything! How good are those ears of yours, huh? There’s a whole door here! A good, solid door! Get a load of that craftsmanship! Man, those Alteans and their space-doors! Coran’s gramps sure did a great job designing this place!”

“Is everything okay?” Keith asks, and Lance wilts a little, abandoning his enthusiastic front.

“Yeah. Everything’s fine. I was just feeling kinda down about something dumb—”

“It’s not dumb.” Keith knows the uncomfortable strain of vulnerability wincing across Lance’s face, and nothing can stop him from reaching out, taking Lance’s hand. “It’s not dumb,” he repeats. “Not If it’s bothering you.”

They stay like that for a long moment, and Keith wishes he had something, anything better to offer Lance. Something that could convey everything Lance needed to hear, everything Keith wanted to say.

“Thanks Keith,” he says eventually, achingly sincere. He gives Keith’s hand a squeeze before he pulls away, and maybe it’s wistful thinking, but he seems to walk a little lighter as he heads off—

Then Keith remembers Coran is standing right there on the observation deck. Coran has been there the entire time.

“I can explain?” Keith tries, mild panic turning his outburst into a question.

Coran raises an eyebrow. “Is there anything you need to explain?”

“No.”

Coran meets Keith’s stubborn stare with an uncomfortably knowing look, but he drops the subject— and his eyebrow— easily enough. Which is a relief.

“Is Lance alright?” Keith asks, partially for a change in subject, mostly because he’d really like to know.

Coran lets out a huff, a sympathetic slant to his expression. “Sometimes, things rattle around in his head too much,” he says. “He’ll be fine. He has us to help him through it.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Keith admits. He’s never felt so clumsy and so obviously out of his depth, conscious of how each decision could be the wrong one to make.

But Coran just gives him a light pat on the shoulder. “You’ve already done more than you think.”

 

* * *

 

Keith knocks on Shiro’s door before he can change his mind. And keeps knocking well after it’s reasonable to stop.

“Can we talk?” he blurts out the second the door starts to side open.

“Sure,” Shiro says, looking a little surprised. Which is understandable. “What’s on your mind?”

Here’s the thing: Shiro’s approachable. He’d be approachable even if they weren’t brothers. He’s the type to always offer an ear, or a shoulder to lean on; it’s just who he is. But he can be... almost too supportive, unconditionally so, and it’s always felt a little strange. Like Keith’s allowed to be a kid. Sometimes it’s kind of nice, sometimes it’s kind of not. Right now, Keith doesn’t know which it is. Maybe he should’ve figured it out before showing up at Shiro’s door.

“I dont want to talk about it,” Keith says, eventually, and Shiro’s expression takes a turn towards patient. Or indulgent.

“Alright then.” Shiro ushers Keith in towards the couch (dragged in from one of many lounging areas), and they sit down. He’s the only one in the castle who keeps one in his room. Probably because of stuff like this. “What do you not want to talk about?”

“I don’t know.” It’s a terrible answer. Keith drags a hand down his face. “It’s complicated. It’s just— _feelings_.”

“Feelings, huh. I remember those.” At Keith’s glare, Shiro puts up his arms in some parody of surrender. “I’m joking. So, what are these feelings?”

There’s too much Keith can say to that, too much he doesn’t know how to say and too much he doesn’t really want to say. It’s hard to put into words; the only thing he knows for certain is he doesn’t know where to go from here.

“How do you know if something’s a terrible idea,” Keith starts.

“Terrible by your standards? Because you’ve thrown yourself out of an airlock at least five times.”

”Shiro,” Keith says, using the flattest tone in his arsenal.

“Keith,” Shiro responds, matching him mildly. “From where I’m coming from, not much can stop you no matter how terrible your ideas are. What’s different about this one?”

“What’s different is... this isn’t something I can rush.” Having a concrete question to bounce off helps; it’s easier to speak when there’s something to articulate. “I’m not used to that. I’ve never really...”

He’s never really had to think in the long-term. Sure, the fight against the Galra empire is one that’ll last a while— for the foreseeable future— but when it comes to people, everything he knows is built on being ready to cut his losses and run. Until Shiro, at least. But one person can’t undo years of learned behavior; conditioning runs deep.

“You’re growing up,” Shiro says. It’s a gentle assessment, almost too cliche to be taken seriously, but by the looks of it Shiro really believes what he’s saying.

“Am I?” Keith asks. “It feels like I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“That’s a part of growing up; finding there are just some things you need to figure out yourself. Remember, patience—“

“—yields focus,” Keith interrupts, implicating his lack of either. “But I’ve been stuck on this too long.”

“It’s frustrating when you don’t know what to do,” Shiro says, “or when it feels like you aren’t getting anywhere, but progress doesn’t only mean moving forward. And answers aren’t always right or wrong. What’s important is giving yourself the time to make a choice that’s yours. If you commit to a decision you fully believe in, there has to be some truth to it.”

“But what if it ends up being a terrible idea?”

“Then you’ll have to realize it for yourself. And if it is, you will. And we’ll help you through it.” Shiro reaches over, ruffling Keith’s hair. “You’re not in this alone.”

It’s a given; obviously Keith knows Voltron’s a team, Shiro’s his brother. But it’s easy to slip into old habits, to fall into the mindset that it’s him alone against the world and nobody cares.

Keith’s not alone against the world.

People care.

It’s nice for an unspoken truth to be said once in a while.

“So...” Shiro drawls, looking a little too innocent. “This wouldn’t happen to be about Lance, would it?”

Keith stands up. “I’m leaving.”

“I support you,” he calls after Keith as the door slides shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll be honest, 90% of this fic is me appealing to my own sense of humor. “feelings, huh. I remember those” is the funniest thing I’ve ever written and the funniest thing I’ll ever write.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks air and lex for the once-over! also if yall are ever in the market for a keith song '[empire](https://youtu.be/mtXaXd8s_XU)' by jukebox the ghost is a good one. honestly if yall are ever in the market for k/l songs I have so many even ignoring all the k/l playlists I keep making.
> 
> also I lifted/modified two lines from s3e1, so if you get some deja vu, that'll probably be why. I got a lot more notes at the end but for now hope yall enjoy!

“No,” Keith says. “No way.”  
  
The space mice— perched atop the nearest table— squeak in plaintive chorus, but Keith remains unmoved. He’s holed up in an isolated corner to think, not to be hassled into talking out his personal problems. By Mice. Mice he can’t even understand. And maybe it feels a little ridiculous to argue with a bunch of mice, but it’d feel _more_ ridiculous to lose an argument with a bunch of mice.  
  
“You guys are terrible at keeping secrets,” he continues, much to their obvious affront. “Don’t you tell Allura everything?”  
  
“They don’t tell me _everything_.”  
  
Keith turns, and there’s Allura at the doorway. She looks just as annoyed as he does, but if she’s here, she probably wants to talk. To Keith. About Keith. Which is terrible.  
  
“When have they _not_ told you everything?” he retorts.  
  
Allura raises an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t know, seeing as I’ve never been told.”  
  
In hindsight, that was a terrible retort; he left himself wide open for a pretty decisive comeback. It’s Lance’s influence, probably.

Keith crosses his arms, resolving to push forward instead of digging a deeper hole for himself. “You didn’t have to send the mice after me.”  
  
“I didn’t send them after you. They’re not my spies,” Allura says, looking reproachful. She lowers her hand, letting the mice up to sit on her shoulders. “Admittedly, they may have a _slight_ problem with boundaries...”  
  
“It’s a big problem.”  
  
“ _Alright_ , a rather significant problem with boundaries,” she concedes with a huff. “But they’re very sorry and they’re learning. Isn’t that right?”  
  
The mice squeak. Keith still has no idea what they’re saying.  
  
“If you truly do not wish to talk, I won’t press the issue. But...” Allura trails off, looking a little too nonchalant.  
  
“But?” Keith prompts, already resigned to the inevitable; if Allura wants to get to a point, no force in the universe is capable of stopping her.

“It sounds as if you _do_ have something to get off your chest. Talking does generally help in those circumstances.”  
  
And maybe it would help to directly address what’s going on, but it’s not just his business— it’s Lance’s business too. Even if Keith was open to talking about his feelings (he isn’t), he wouldn’t be open to talking about Lance’s.  
  
Keith groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Maybe I just need someone to tell me I’m being an idiot.”  
  
“Alright. You’re being an idiot.” Allura waits a beat, probably looking for some reaction. “Did that help?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“What a pity. If problems could be solved by calling you an idiot, life would certainly be much easier.”  
  
“It sure would,” Keith deadpans. He lets out a sigh. “Thanks, but I can’t talk about it. Not with you.”  
  
“Keith, being able to rely on us—”  
  
“I mean I can’t talk about with _you_.”  
  
Allura, to her credit, seems to pick up on what he’s trying to say. Maybe it’s all the politics she’s always dealing with. “In that case,” she hedges, “who are you able to talk about it with?”  
  
“...Lance,” Keith admits, the answer dragged out with reluctance.

“Lance?” Allura repeats, with a terrible dawning clarity. She seems infinitely more amused knowing who’s central to the conflict. “And what’s stopping you?”

“I can’t make a decision without talking to him. But I don’t want to talk to him without making a decision.” Keith lets out another sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is dumb. I’m being an idiot.”

“I thought we established that calling you an idiot wasn’t helpful,” Allura says, a light admonishment. Then, she puts a hand on his shoulder, fixing him with a solemn expression. “Let me tell you something about diplomacy, Keith: I despise it.”  
  
“What?” Keith asks, completely taken aback.  
  
“Do you think I enjoy being puffed up like a trufalian meringue? I don’t! Not to mention how abhorrent the people involved can be. _Politicians_ ,” she snarls, spitting the word like a curse. “If I had a gac for every obsequious, condescending, malignant blight of incompetence I’ve had the displeasure of working with, why, we’d be able to buy out the Galra empire!”  
  
For once, Keith’s completely validated in his distaste for political events. Which is probably why she’s never expressed this sentiment before. At least, not to him. “Why do we waste so much time with it?”  
  
“It’s not a waste of time,” Allura scolds, confusingly enough. “But it _is_ seventy percent appearance, twenty-nine percent manners, decorum, formalities, and chit-chat, then _one_ percent serious business about fighting for the freedom of the universe. Also, two percent hors d'oeuvres, but don’t ask me where that two percent fits in.”  
  
“Alright,” Keith says.  
  
“Now, what’s important is that we can’t achieve that one percent of serious business without the other ninety-nine percent of...“ She scowls. “Effort. If I didn’t endure the tedium of diplomacy, nothing would get solved. From the sound of it, you know what you need to do; all that’s left is to put forth that effort.”  
  
“Wait,” Keith says; talking to Allura about her own problems was a welcome reprieve, it wasn’t supposed to circle back to Keith and his issues.  
  
“Do you plan to spend the rest of your life running from an uncomfortable conversation?”  
  
“It’s an option.” It’s not, and he knows it’s not. From Allura’s expression, she knows too.  
  
“This won’t be as painful as you think,” she continues. “First of all, neither of you are politicians. Second of all, you both have the same goals.”  
  
“You don’t know that,” he protests. “You don’t even know what this is about.”  
  
“I know that you two are friends. Regardless of your respective feelings, you want to be happy, and you want each other to be happy. Am I wrong?”  
  
Well. The first part’s a little shaky, but on the whole he can’t exactly argue against that. “For someone who doesn’t like diplomacy, you’re way too good at it.”  
  
“Thank you,” she says, graciously turning the assessment into a compliment. “I learned from the best, after all.”  
  
“Coran?”  
  
“Coran,” she confirms.  
  
“That makes sense.” Keith heaves a deep sigh. “You’re right. I’m going to find Lance.  
  
“Oh.” Allura blinks. “Right now?”

“Yeah.” He heads towards the door, resolved go get the whole thing over with. “Thanks Allura,” he calls over his shoulder.  
  
“Any time, Keith.”  
  
As he leaves, he can hear her mutter to the mice, “That went far better than expected.”

 

* * *

 

Keith knocks on the door to Lance’s room. There’s a muffled thud and miscellaneous clattering as Lance calls, “Hold on a sec! A tick? Hold on a— just hold on, be right there!”  
  
It takes a little while but Lance manages to make it out of his room, letting his door slide open just enough for him slip out. “Keith?” he greets. “Oh! Hey! Everything’s fine.”  
  
“You sure?” Keith has his doubts; it sounded kind of like someone tripped, knocked into a shelf, then toppled it over along with everything in it.  
  
“Everything’s _fine_ ,” Lance repeats firmly. “What’s up? You going somewhere?” he asks, gesturing to Keith and the paladin armor he’s wearing.  
  
“Yeah.” Keith takes a breath, doing his best to look relatively calm and not at all freaked out. “Want to go stargazing?”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“Stargazing. With me,” he clarifies.  
  
“I mean, sure, but do we have to suit up for it? We can gaze at stars all we want from inside the castle.”  
  
Keith takes Lance’s hand. “Let’s go.”

“Okay,” Lance says, already looking a little starry-eyed. He lets Keith lead them to the loading dock, only pulling away to put on his own suit. Then they head towards the outer surface of the ship.  
  
Stargazing in space is always a breathtaking experience; as mundane as paladin life has become, Keith always feels _something_ out here. Peace, maybe. Of course, that’s only when he’s out to enjoy the infinite expanse of space while not fighting in a life-or-death situation.  
  
It’s not the first time he’s been out here with Lance, sitting side-by-side. This time the air between them— or lackthereof— feels charged in a way that can’t be ignored. And there’s something about talking through the comms, the illusion of distance, that makes it easier to start bridging the gap between them.  
  
“Why did you tell me?” Keith asks, breaking the silence with all the subtlety of a rock through a window.  
  
Lance is still for a long moment, long enough for Keith to regret his approach a dozen different ways. Then, the comms crackle back to life, the barest hint of static at the edges.  
  
“I was tired,” he says. “With… y’know. The back and forth. And I know you are, too. I mean, it took way too long for me to even admit we were friends!”  
  
“It took a while,” Keith says, unable to keep a wry lilt from his tone. It’s a lot more funny in hindsight, especially considering where they are now.  
  
Lance clears his throat, obviously chagrined. “If I kept it to myself I know it would’ve been a whole _thing_ ,” he continues. “I’ve always had a problem being straight with you.” A pause. “Oh, that’s a good one.”  
  
“Lance.”  
  
“Right, right,” he says, getting himself back on track. "I'm just... I'm always trying to figure you out. Heck, I'm always trying to figure _me_ out, so figuring _this_ out is... it's like..." He stalls, probably caught up in fragments of a dozen different similes. "It's hard," he finishes, apparently giving up on all of them. “And I couldn’t _not_ drag you into it, so I figured I’d just get it all out there for once!”  
  
Keith puts his hand over Lance’s in what’s hopefully a reassuring gesture. “I’m glad you did,” he says, keeping his gaze up towards the starlight above them. It’s a little hard to gather his thoughts, harder still to put them into words.  
  
“I think I’m scared,” he admits. “You’re… putting a lot of trust in me.”

“What?” Lance says. “No?”

“You are,” Keith insists, turning to face Lance. “This is something that could be taken advantage of. Easily.”  
  
“What, by you?” he says, bewildered. “Of course not? It’s not like you’re some cheap villain in a soap opera.”  
  
At that, Keith’s train of thought derails entirely. “A what?”  
  
“Y’know, like, there’s a girl who goes like...“ Lance puts a hand to his forehead, dramatically swooning into Keith’s arms. “Oh, Rodrigo! My heart burns for you! Mamá says you’re trying to kill me, but she _has_ to be wrong! And then Rodrigo tells Mariella to go to the woods, alone, at night, and he hires a hitman to try and kill her.” He stops the swooning, but doesn’t bother getting up. “If you ask me to go stargazing I know you’re not going to, like, murder me or whatever.”  
  
“Those are pretty low standards,” Keith points out, and Lance rolls his eyes.  
  
“Alright, maybe that wasn’t the best example. _The point is_ you’re not that kind of guy. I mean, come on— how many times have we saved each other’s butts?”  
  
“Does that matter?”  
  
“‘Does that matter,’ he says.” Lance shakes his head in disbelief. “Keith. Buddy. I’ll have you know saving-slash-being-saved is a _fantastic_ bonding activity. Not to mention the space-shenanigans we all get up to.” He lifts a hand to pat Keith’s face, though it’s mostly just armor clacking against armor. “I know the kind of guy you are, dude. I can trust you with my life _and_ with a crush.”

And maybe that’s what’s so terrifying, yet enticing about the whole situation; Lance makes it sound easy, as if trust is a simple thing to give despite everything that could possibly go wrong.

“I can trust you too,” Keith says, finally.  
  
Lance’s expression freezes in place. “Hm?”  
  
“With a crush.”  
  
“Uh,” he says, hand still resting against Keith’s helmet.

“On you.”  
  
“What?” he says, still cradled in Keith’s arms. “Seriously? For real?”  
  
“Yeah. Seriously. For real.” Keith’s pretty sure he hasn’t been subtle. At all. “You saw this coming, didn’t you?”  
  
“I mean, kind of, I guess, but it’s still—“ Lance sits up, turning to grab Keith by the shoulders. “Listen! I gotta make sure this is a boyfriend situation, not a hostage situation!”  
  
“It’s a boyfriend situation,” Keith says automatically. Then, “How would this be a hostage situation?”  
  
“I don’t know! Nothing’s keeping you shackled to me, right?”  
  
“Feelings. Feelings are keeping me shacked to you.” And, just in case that wasn’t clear enough, “I like you, Lance.”  
  
Lance sputters out a laugh, and keeps laughing until he’s gasping for air, leaning against Keith for support. It’s kind of a hug. Keith would probably be a lot more put off, if this wasn’t Lance.  
  
“This is going to be a disaster!” Lance wheezes, still laughing.  
  
“Yeah,” Keith says, patting Lance on the back. “Let’s try anyway.”  
  
“Okay. Alright. Cool. I’m game,” Lance says. He pulls away, just enough to give Keith a breathless sort of grin. Then, he headbutts Keith’s helmet.  
  
“Why,” Keith says, rubbing at the point of impact. It’s reflex more than anything; a light point-blank bump isn’t going to do much against Altean armor.  
  
“ _Someone_ dragged me all the way out into space, where we can’t smooch!” Lance accuses. It’s hard to take him seriously, especially with that grin still on his face. “Great going, Keith!”  
  
“Space is romantic, right?” he protests. “This is romantic!”

“And now you have to deal with the consequences of your actions,” Lance declares. He headbutts Keith again, making an exaggerated kissing noise, and Keith laughs, not trying that hard to fight him off.  
  
They’re probably going to make a mess of it. Keith’s definitely going to make a mess of it.  
  
But maybe they’ll turn out fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finishing this fic was honestly like an exorcism because this has been haunting me for literal years. a lot of it was frankensteined from other wips, and a lot of it got frankensteined into other wips. 
> 
> while we were watching s6, the episode where the mice tell allura bout lance, lex was like 'I thought there were space MICE not space RATS' & honestly that just really stayed with me.
> 
> on a related note suz has kind of been an influence, she's why I've been meaning to get the space mice more involved. it's a running joke between me & some buds that there's probably a pretty significant subset of fic writers that just casually adore her.
> 
> also back to frankensteined wips a lot of this started out as an ['established relationship almost breakup but actually end up making up and having a stronger relationship' idea](https://or-archive.tumblr.com/post/173064501149/), which I'm still super fond of but I couldn't fill out the middle enough to my satisfaction. I love the idea but alas my hole is get-together fluff. also also, re: that link, I made an archive blog where I put stuff like chapter posts and fic-specific rambles, along with fic-related art. organization! love it.


End file.
